I glare at her in the split second that follows, but she doesn’t seem to notice; her eyes track Elder Branche across the room with visceral hatred. With violence. Withfear.
Elder Branche, who trained and trusts me.
Elder Branche, who for all intents and purposesraisedme.
Unbidden, my gaze darts back to the records on the table, and doubt creeps through the crack in my conscience. Have I been approaching this all wrong? Am I really considering amerrowover an elder? I’ll need to be careful, of course. I can’t tell him about my plan for Mortem’s heart—but the man has lived for hundreds of years; he might know something the books do not.
“Wait,” I call out, and to my relief, my voice holds steady. “Elder Branche, have you… do you know anything about Abysses?”
Elder Branche frowns. “A fable for children, I’m afraid. Come, Warlock Stone. We have a mermaid to hang.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
ARION
The marble platform of the Executioner’s Square gleams bone white as dawn crests the rolling hills of Mortia, spilling soft golden light over swaying palm trees, armored guards, and a restless, starving city. Nobles and commoners mix; luxurious silks and woven finery brush against bloodied wool and dirtied linen. It doesn’t matter. Not here. Now. For the first time in recent history, there exists a common enemy to unite the people.
They have all come to watch a mermaid die.
I pass Zephyra off to King Constane, who marches the pink-haired demon up the risers. Two of my brethren already flank him—their warlock wings smaller, skinnier than mine and tinged brown—but the king still pauses and offers me a sharp grin. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like the honor, Warlock Stone? You’ve certainly earned it.”
I would, actually.
I would like nothing more than to enchant the opening beneath her feet. Slowly. So slowly that her neck wouldn’t snap when she fell. So slowly, she would be forced to choke and gasp andsuffer. I would like to hear the merrow’s last breath up close, knowing I am the one who wrought it, but Ican’t. Exhaustion wrings me nearly dry, and I can’t weaken myself further in front of crown and kingdom. Theywould cast me aside. They would prepare for my fall. All I have—all I am—is my strength.
I bow my head with a matching wolfish smile that edges my panic. Panic I cannot—should not—feel. They have all come to watch a mermaid die. A mermaid I need. The only mermaid left alive in this entire gods-damned city. Around us, merrow bodies sway from distant posts. Vibrant hair and blood and hollow eyes. This mermaid will soon join them. She will be hanged, and then she will be strung up, and I—
I will be dead.
A fable for children, Elder Branche said of Abysses.
It was the heart of civilization, the mermaid snarled, but—no. Surely if Abysses existed, someone would’ve found it by now. They would have found Mortem’s heart. A god’s magic would be the ultimate prize, the ultimate power, for anyone. Thousands of warlocks have come before me. Died before me.They would have found it.
Yet even now, the merrow’s voice echoes through my mind in answer:Beneath the sea.
For some reason, it makes sense. Too much sense. If every expedition failed, if no warlocks have ever recovered the heart, it either doesn’t exist… or it’s somewhere we couldn’t find it. Somewhere dangerous, impossible to navigate, amidst feral merrow and their loathsome kingdoms.
Beneath the sea.
My gut tightens as I glance to the merrow in question. She could be lying. She probablyislying, and if I act recklessly now—if I put my trust in amermaid—I’d be tying my fate to hers.
Round and round my thoughts spin, tangling into a knot of what I know and what I do not. I’m running out of fucking time.
Too late, I realize the king is still awaiting my response. “I will be here,” I say through my teeth, more grimace than smile now. The guards nearest us exchange wary looks. “In case of trouble.”
So far, there hasn’t been any. Although, that’s not exactly surprising. Under Elder Branche’s instructions, I dragged Zephyra to the square with her hands bound and her mouth gagged. She’s been tiedup with so much rope that she looks more like a hog ready to be roasted over open flame. Bedraggled locks of merrow-pink hair tangle with the ties, and her turquoise eyes spark with rage. Fear. She can only struggle silently, twitch and shudder beneath the binds, as the king tugs her forward. She must swallow her screams as he shoves her up the first step.
“Very well, Stone.” King Constane leans close, his black diamond–encrusted crown nearly impaling my cheek from the sudden movement. “You have been a great ally in these troubled times. Elder Branche and I have been speaking, and we believe there is a higher position among warlocks waiting to be created.”
“A higher position?” My wings pull me closer against my better wishes, and now his crown does scratch my cheek. I hardly feel it, my attention sharpening on his unctuous, self-satisfied expression. He cannot help it. In Constane’s mind, he blesses the entire kingdom by simply existing.
“You have defeated four merrow single-handedly in the last week alone. You wrecked whole ships during the battle against Tempest; you’ve speared merrow from the skies. You’ve even filled my coffers with magicked coin. There are none like you. There have never been any like you. You are undeniably my favorite, and everyone knows it.” He licks a finger, then uses it to smooth down a lock of blond hair while Zephyra continues fighting desperately beside him. I will him to pull the rope tighter. “How does Commander Stone sound?”
The entire world screeches to a halt as my eyes narrow on his dark brown ones, and our gazes catch and hold. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch away as others do. Then again, he is the king of Mortia, his authority vast and absolute; he has no need to fear me. “Come again, Your Majesty?”
He winks, holding on to a struggling Zephyra as if without a care in the world. Flashing every tooth in his mouth. “Anticipate an invitation to the Ador Palace—I will call on you soon. We can discuss this once the demons have been properly exorcised from my kingdom.”
“Yes.” I consider the implications of such an arrangement, and atendril of foreboding winds through the snare of my thoughts. Such power is never given freely. “Of course,” I add quietly, bowing my head.
